


Fairytale Backup Plan

by china_shop



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Belonging, Coffee Shops, Domesticity, Fic, Flying, Friendship, M/M, not an au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After six months on the road, Natasha winds up at Steve and Sam's coffee shop. Set after CA:TWS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairytale Backup Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This started life as silly schmoop and may still contain traces of crack. Also, it's my first time writing Natasha. Inspired by draycevixen's prompt for "more stories in fandom where writers push the boundaries of canon rather than just going full on AU." Title taken from EliseM's [list of shinies](http://elisem.livejournal.com/1868139.html).
> 
> Bushels of thanks to mergatrude for read-throughs and cheerleading; mossybomb for beta on the first (terrible) draft; and bethbethbeth for beta on the rewrite. <3 <3 <3

1.

The parking lot held half a dozen vehicles with local plates and a ragged-eared dog that skittered behind a pick-up truck when Nat pulled off the interstate. She parked and surveyed the low-slung adobe building. There were two signs in the window: a printed card that read _Under New Management_ and a hand-written notice beneath that. _Help Wanted. Enquire Within._ This was the place, and that notice was an open invitation.

Six months, letting the world rush past, discovering who she was in the wake of SHIELD's collapse and the release of her files to the public. Six months with no missions, no orders to follow. Leaving the monsters and villains behind, creating a new self, a civilian this time. Trying normality on for size. It had been freeing at first, but now she needed to shake off the thick layer of silence she'd built up after too many days on the road, little pieces of the past kicking up like gravel under her tires. She wasn't ready to head back to the East Coast, not yet, but she'd spent enough time alone.

She left the sterile comfort of her air-conditioning and slammed the car door behind her. The air was dry and hot, and the dog stuck its head out and tracked her movements from a safe distance.

"Don't worry," she told it, her first words in over twenty-four hours. "I'm not here for you."

She went inside and scanned the room, automatically assessing the clientele – fourteen people in groups or two or three, including a couple of elderly vets, but no one with high-level combat training. It was a wide light-filled room that opened onto a patio with a canvas awning and potted yuccas and a fluffy white cat stretched out on the paving stones. Inside, there were exposed wooden rafters and rustic artworks on the walls. The only sign of the proprietors' urban origins was the seventies' funk playing over the stereo system.

Steve was behind the counter, making coffee for a tall skinny guy wearing a bead necklace and carrying a book called _Medical Herbalism: The Science Principles and Practices of Herbal Medicine_. "Soy latte," said Steve, putting the cup on the counter. "You got your coffee card, Jordan?"

Jordan fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a dog-eared card for Steve to stamp. "Thanks, man."

"And that's your tenth stamp, so you're due a free one next time," said Steve. "That'll help you through your exam." 

Nat waited until Jordan had taken his coffee to a table, then stepped up to the counter, lips curving in anticipation. "Nice place."

Steve's head snapped up. "Nat! We weren't expecting you." His posture straightened as he went from surprised to alert. "What's the code red?"

She shrugged. "I'm just here for the coffee."

"It's a long way to come for coffee." Steve studied her, openly wary. 

Her smile dimmed. "I was in the neighborhood." That was even true, relatively speaking. "Thought I'd make sure you boys weren't getting yourselves into trouble."

Steve's face went blank for a fraction of a second. "You're checking up on us?"

It wasn't hostile, but it wasn't thrilled either. She was about to make a joke to defuse the situation when Sam came out of a back room carrying a tray of cookies. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of her. "Hey, Natasha. Long time, no see." He glanced around to make sure none of the customers were in earshot and lowered his voice. "Who's making a grab for ultimate cosmic power this time?"

"A girl can't drop by to see old friends without everyone assuming the world is ending?" asked Nat. This wasn't the warm welcome she'd expected.

Sam and Steve shared a look, and Sam slid the cookies into the display cabinet on the counter. "It's been a while. And, you know, precedents."

"Nothing's wrong," said Nat. It was obviously too soon to mention the Help Wanted sign. 

"Glad to hear it. We can't leave now – I have to make another batch." Sam flipped two cookies onto plates and tossed her a third. 

She caught it and bit into it. Rich, dark chocolate chip. Delicious. "You have a gift," she told him solemnly.

"I know." He took the plates over to a couple of women at a table by the window, maybe a mother and daughter, and served them with a grin and a few joking words, greeting them by name. They smiled back appreciatively, the daughter blushing slightly.

Steve and Nat watched in silence, until Steve finally said, "Well, if there's no apocalypse, it's good to see you. Welcome to New Mexico."

"Thanks." There was an awkward pause. "About that coffee."

"On it," said Steve, starting toward the espresso machine, but Sam was back and he grabbed Steve's arm, hauling him to a halt.

"Actually his coffee is still a work in progress," he told Nat, patting Steve affectionately. "He's getting better, but for now, given your VIP status, let me hook you up."

"Thanks, Sam." Nat noted the easy vibe between them and the way Sam was manhandling Steve to get him out from behind the counter. Maybe _that_ was their big secret. She wouldn't have figured Steve for being in the closet, but perhaps he wasn't sure of her reaction and needed an opening to tell her. She gave him an encouraging nod. "We've got some catching up to do."

He led her to a table on the patio. There was a brief moment where both of them went for the seat facing the door, though neither of them was crass enough to state it outright. Nat's determination trumped Steve's old-world manners, and he sat side-on. "What's really going on, Natasha? You okay?"

"I'm fine," she told him. "And you look good. This place suits you." Despite his evident discomfort with her arrival, he really did seem happy in his faded jeans and Aretha Franklin t-shirt. Looser limbed or something. But the discomfort was a discordant note. Maybe they weren't friends after all. Maybe it took more than saving the world together twice to earn Steve's trust. Even so, it wasn't like him to be this openly guarded. "So, you and Sam, huh?"

"Yeah." The acknowledgement was quiet and confident, but it didn't erase the tension that was transmitting itself to Nat, putting her on edge.

She slipped into a neutral posture, instinctively finding the right angle for an interrogation, but then stopped. Steve Rogers wasn't an enemy. She could just ask. "What else is going on with you? How did you end up here?"

"Bringing espresso to small-town America isn't enough?" Steve's smile was wry and deliberate. He bent and clicked his fingers near the ground, and the white cat trotted over for strokes. "We wanted to stop somewhere warm for a while. It's a nice little community."

"And you haven't lived till you've flown over the desert," added Sam, arriving with their coffee. There were wings drawn in the foam. Sam pulled up a chair and leaned closer. "Don't worry, we're keeping a low profile. No one knows who we are."

Nat considered the customers at the tables around them, all gazing into their cups or determinedly reading magazines. "They know. They're just too polite to say anything."

"Yeah, well." Sam winked. "We keep them in coffee, they keep us off the radar. Everybody wins."

"Speaking of which, how did you find us, Natasha?" said Steve. "We used aliases for the paperwork. I thought we were off the grid."

Nat drank a mouthful of coffee and met his eye unapologetically. For most people, stalking their friends was crossing a line, but they weren't most people. "Sam called his sister on her birthday. I traced the phone."

Steve bumped his elbow against Sam's. "Really?"

"Dude, it was her birthday. I had to call." Sam looked rueful. "I used the payphone at that truck stop out of Silver City. That's nearly twenty miles away."

"The truck stop has a security camera," explained Nat. 

Sam grimaced. "My bad."

"Plus there've been unconfirmed reports of a birdman flying over the desert at sunset," added Nat. "And angels."

Steve nudged Sam again. "You're lucky you're not on Google Earth or Youtube. Everything else is."

"What do you know about it? You're still working your way through the Honest Movie Trailers," Sam teased him.

"Actually, there's this video of a baby panda sneezing." Steve picked up his coffee. "I'll show you later. Cutest thing ever."

"Not quite," said Nat, eyeing the way they were sprawled into each other's space. She couldn't help thinking that this was what Captain America looked like when he was getting regularly laid. 

Steve tried to look blank, but his ears went pink. Sam just grinned shamelessly, and asked, "You staying a while?"

"I heard there's a job opening, thought I'd apply." Nat raised her chin, daring Steve to tell her she wouldn't fit in. If he could make a place for himself in a small desert town, so could she.

Steve and Sam exchanged glances, and Sam shrugged, apparently leaving the decision in Steve's hands. Then the counter bell rang inside the coffee shop, and they all looked around to see one of the vets standing by the counter, leaning on a cane. Sam stood up hastily. "It's Hank. He'll want something complicated with syrup. I'll get it."

Steve's eyes were warm as he watched Sam walk away. All those attempts at match-making, and Nat had been firing at the wrong target. When he dragged his gaze back to her, she let her lips twitch knowingly.

He rolled his eyes and got serious. "You really want to stay and work here? Have you ever worked in a coffee shop before?"

"Had you?" The deflection was automatic.

Steve didn't push, he just tilted his head, conceding the point, and his lips finally curved in welcome. "Well, I'll tell you, we were planning to get someone who actually knew what they were doing, since we're pretty much making it up as we go along, but it would be good to have you here. Why don't you try it out for a couple of days, see if it works out?"

"Is there a reason it might not?" They were getting close to whatever Steve was hiding, Nat could feel it.

He blinked. "Not that I can think of."

"You're still a terrible liar," she told him. But he was provisionally offering her the job, which she wanted, and it seemed like the only way to get to the heart of the mystery was to wait. "Okay. You got somewhere I can sleep?"

"We have a place." Steve jerked his head toward the back wall of the patio. "You can take my room."

Nat cocked an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want to put you out."

"It's no trouble," said Steve, at the same time as Sam, who'd arrived back and caught the tail end of their conversation, put a hand on Steve's shoulder and said, "You're not."

"Glad to know you're finally getting some in the twenty-first century, Steve," drawled Nat, to make him blush. 

"Well, I have a lot of lost time to make up for." He managed to look simultaneously smug and embarrassed, while Sam stood behind him and ruffled his hair. 

"I can hold down the fort here for a bit if you want to show Nat to her room and let her get settled in." Sam grinned at Nat. "This isn't the East Coast. Our customers usually don't get steam coming out their ears if we keep them waiting a few minutes."

"Thanks." Steve leaned his head back against Sam's belly for a moment and then stood up and gestured for Nat to accompany him. "You can start tomorrow morning."

"Great." Nat followed his lead. "I'll get my bag from the car."

 

2.

Nat expected the accommodations to be spare and temporary like a safe house, or at least a work in progress, but it wasn't like that. The couches were draped in an eclectic collection of throw rugs. The bookcases were crammed with novels and popular science books obviously accumulated over years. Paintings hung on the walls as if they belonged there. The white cat had followed them in and made an imperious beeline for the kitchen.

Of all the people Nat had been in her life, she'd never been someone with a home like this. She looked at Steve, who was filling the doorway. "Whose place is this? Or did you and Sam bring a U-Haul on your road trip?"

"Mrs. Eva Cashore. She knew Peggy Carter in the sixties. It turns out, Peggy knew a lot of people. Anyway, Eva had to go into a hospice a few months ago, and she doesn't have any relatives, so Peggy suggested she let us look after the coffee shop, and Eva said we could have the house too if we fed the cat." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Your room's through here." 

He ushered her down a short hall into a bedroom with a bed that was heaped with clean laundry and probably hadn't been slept in for weeks. The desk in the corner had more life to it, and there were sketches pinned to the wall – portraits of people, young and old, including a few Nat recognized as customers from the coffee shop. A dozen pastel studies of Sam, smiling, sleeping, flying.

"The gun safe is under the bed." Steve gave her a key, scooped the clothes off the bed and took his shield from the closet. "Make yourself at home."

"Do we have a problem, Rogers?" Nat dropped her travel bag on the bed and folded her arms. 

Steve regarded her, his shield hanging loose at his side. "Should we have?"

"Well, I thought we were friends," said Nat, "but you didn't invite me to your wedding."

Steve relaxed, amusement sparking in his eyes. "I'm not married." 

"You should ask him." She punched him on the biceps. "Betcha ten bucks he says yes."

 

3.

Nat took a shower and washed all her clothes, and then snooped around the house for a while, trying to pick what were original furnishings and what were Sam and Steve's additions. Some things were easy, of course – including a few framed photos of Sam with people who could have been his family, an older sister perhaps and a group shot around a Christmas tree – but Mrs. Cashore had modern taste, and Nat didn't know Sam well enough to judge how homey he liked things.

She didn't really know Steve that well, either. One of the reasons she'd landed on Steve's doorstep, rather than going to Europe to find Fury or tracking down Barton, was that since Steve came out of the ice, he'd been disconnected, even compared to her. Nat didn't have a social circle so much as allies and fellow operatives. She'd spent most of her life on missions, often undercover. So it was novel to meet someone who was even more isolated than she was, and working with Steve had brought out a previously unexplored protective side of her. She might not have or want many ties in this world, but she could still play the big sister and help him make some of his own.

But now Steve had leapfrogged past her and achieved greater heights of normality than she'd dreamed possible for either of them. What's more, he made it look good: he wasn't bored or tied down or secretly waiting for the next apocalypse. He didn't even keep his shield with him in the coffee shop. In the space of six months, he'd settled down with Sam and a Bond villain cat, and was apparently doing his damnedest to live happily ever after. Nat couldn't decide if it should be inspirational or unnerving.

 

4.

She was catching up on her email when Sam came home at five. "Steve's closing up shop, and I'm going to take the wings for a spin. You want to come?"

"You take passengers?" Nat closed her laptop.

"The EXO-7 was actually designed for rescue, not combat." Sam moved a couple of cushions and a blanket to reveal a locker by the fireplace. He punched in a combination and lifted out the wing pack and a loose weave bag with a couple of pairs of goggles. "Yeah, I take passengers."

"I'm in." Nat might not have decided exactly who she was going to be next. It was harder to uncover a core self than she'd expected; feelings shifted like sand dunes, survival strategies merged into instinct, and months of solitude had turned her head into an echo chamber, at times. But whoever she ended up being, it would be someone who, when offered a flight over the desert at sunset, would jump at it. Definitely.

Sam handed her a pair of goggles. "You'll want a sweater and a jacket."

*

"You're a good height for this." Sam's hands adjusted the harness from behind her, tightening, securing. Pulling her onto tiptoe, locking their bodies together. It was the most physical contact Nat had had in months, and she had to remind herself it wasn't personal. Safety precautions. 

"Shorter is better?"

"We can have our feet level, and I'll still have a decent visual field. Makes landing easier. When I take Steve up, I have to stand on something to strap him on. It pulls my center of gravity out of whack when we're up there." He sounded matter of fact. 

"Hard on the back," said Nat, matching his tone, side-stepping the potential innuendo. 

"Seriously." Sam adjusted the waist band one last time and put his hands on her shoulders. "And for landing, I usually just drop him instead of doing a proper touchdown. 'Course, he likes that. Okay, you good?"

Nat snapped her goggles into place. "Yeah."

"If your hands get cold, put 'em in your pockets." And then they were off, up, the harness binding her, making it hard to inhale in the rush of turbulence and acceleration. Nat had jumped out of planes before, but this was nothing like free fall. It was a little like speeding on a motorcycle without a helmet, but the ground was already fifty feet down and dropping, and Nat had no handlebars, no body in front of her to grip. 

She felt it the moment he switched from boosters to wings, not just the change in sound but the difference in force from steady thrust to a rhythm, the straps tugging across her chest and waist, between her legs, on every downbeat. 

Their ascent slowed. Sam was solid at her back, confident, experienced. "Good?" he yelled in her ear.

She gave him a thumbs up, not trusting her voice to carry, and he leveled them out, arcing into horizontal flight. The earth curved, and below them was a blur of ochre and sienna, glowing in the last of the day's light, streaked with long dark shadows that stretched out like bony fingers. 

Sam whooped in her ear and clamped an arm around her waist, and the world tilted so that for half a second she was looking up into endless sky. Then the horizon swept past and the desert filled her vision again. She laughed, joy bubbling up. This was flight for the sake of flight, pure play and exuberance. There was no mission, no enemy, no scheme or manipulation. She felt free.

She pressed the button on the side of her goggles. Sam had said that would activate schlieren imaging, a system that visualized differentials in air pressure, letting her literally see the currents and thermals spreading out around them. It took a second, and then her vision seemed to cloud over, faint swirls and brighter patches ghosting across the landscape. It was disorientating, especially when they flew directly toward a large solid-looking column, like a tornado. They were zooming so fast Nat nearly flung her arms up to protect her face, but it was just a thermal. Sam spread the wings wide and they rode it lazily upward.

Nat pressed the button on her goggles again and the haze of air currents cleared. She wasn't driving, she didn't need that much information, and she preferred the colors rich and pure.

 _I could have done this, I could have had wings._ She'd led many lives, but none of them had been able to fly.

It felt like they'd only been up there ten minutes when Sam yelled, "I'm bringing us down." Nat wanted to protest, but she was starting to shiver, her hands like ice. 

They circled around to the huge rock outcrop where Sam had parked the car earlier, saying, "It always helps if you can find your vehicle again when you're done." He dropped them down, slowing and slowing till they were hovering, eight feet, six, three and touchdown, light as a feather.

He folded the wings away and released the clips at the side of the harness, grabbing her shoulder to steady her as she took a stumbling step. And she turned, seeing his face for the first time since they'd done that – she'd trusted him with her life and they'd flown together, soared over the landscape just for the hell of it. He was wearing a wide, satisfied grin, and she knew she was mirroring it. She was frozen and windswept and flushed with exhilaration, so gloriously happy she was barely herself. 

If she said anything now, it would be too much. She just shook her head and dragged off the goggles. 

He shrugged out of the wing pack and stowed it in the trunk, and then took out a thermos and poured them each a cup of hot cocoa. 

Nat wrapped her hands around the enamel mug and leaned against the car. "You ever get used to it?"

Sam laughed like he couldn't keep it in. "Nope."

 

5.

"—then Texas, Arizona, here," said Nat, later than night. She was curled up on the couch, outlining how she'd ended up in New Mexico. The cat had insisted on colonizing her lap, and though she'd never really seen the point of pets, she stroked him anyway, surprised to find herself enjoying his throaty purr of appreciation. Steve sat next to her on the couch. Sam was on the floor across from them, his back against an arm chair. They were all drinking beer. Nat was safe, her guard lowered. "I broke up a fight in a bar in Tucson a couple of nights ago. These local guys were yelling and breaking bottles, and no one else stepped in. I don't know where the barman was. Anyway, I broke it up and I thought, you know, it's not as much fun doing this on my own."

"So you came here," said Sam. "Good call."

"Thanks." Nat finished her beer and rolled the bottle against her leg.

Steve patted her arm and was quiet for a minute. "You're sure you want to stick around." 

"So long as I'm not in the way." Nat shifted slightly. If she wasn't welcome, she'd leave in the morning. Or now. She could leave now. Except that she was comfortable, and there was a cat on her lap, and if she stayed another day, she might be able to persuade Sam to take her up one more time.

"It's not that," said Steve. "We want you to stay." He wasn't lying, but something wasn't right. The subtle edginess was still there. Sam gently kicked Steve's ankle, and Steve sighed and nodded. He turned to Nat. "There's something you should know."

 

6.

"The morning rush starts the second I open the doors," said Steve. "You handle the money, we'll make the coffee." 

"You'll be fine," said Sam, as if that were in doubt. "Just don't forget to stamp their coffee cards or things get ugly. Yeah, voice of experience."

Steve unlocked the door, and a tide of people staggered in, looking like hostages who'd been held in the dark in stress positions and had only just been released. They crowded the counter, squinting blearily at Nat. None of them looked dangerous, but they weren't happy either, and they were all clutching their coffee cards and calling out their coffee orders at once.

"I thought you said your customers were patient," Nat muttered to Sam.

"This is the 7 am crowd. Different rules apply. 'Morning, Mrs. Kowalski, you want your usual?"

Nat took their money and their orders and stamped their cards. The ones who smiled, she stamped twice. By eight-thirty she was exhausted. "Not hostages; zombies. Hey, you're sure there isn't a supervillain planning world domination around here someplace that we could take down? Come on, it would be a refreshing break."

She didn't really mean it. Working the counter was repetitive and stressful when they were this busy, but it had that sense of teamwork she'd missed since she'd been on her own.

"They don't call it the daily grind for nothing," said Steve, looking over her shoulder at the notepad where she'd scrawled the orders. "You're doing great."

"Here." Sam gave her a cup of chai. "This one's for you."

Nat sipped it appreciatively. "Next time, I'm on coffee duty." The prospect of working the espresso machine was far preferable to handling the mob of caffeine-deprived strangers, and Sam had said Steve didn't quite have the knack yet.

"I'll walk you through it after the rush and we'll see," said Sam.

 

7.

Sam was showing her how the machine worked later that morning when the Winter Soldier arrived. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face and a long-sleeved shirt, and he might have passed for normal if it weren't for the light glinting off his metal hand. Nat heard the echo of automatic gunfire, felt the sharp thwacks where bullets hit her shoulder and belly, and remembered the loss of the man she was supposed to protect. And beyond that, deeper down, shadows tugged her toward a self she'd hoped was long since laid to rest. Resistance coalesced in a knot of cold fury, sending her hand to her hip where her semi should be. Her brain revved, calculating how to engage, get him away from the civilians, neutralize him, but she didn't move. 

She'd been expecting him. _That's why we stopped here, 'cause he stopped here,_ Steve had said last night. _He doesn't talk to anyone, but he keeps coming back._ And she'd said okay, because she'd wanted to stay. Because this was the first place she'd found where she could leave her psychological armor locked up with her weapons and try living without it… and now here she was, vulnerable.

"It's okay," murmured Steve in her ear, making her jump. "He's changed. He just needs time."

They were the same words Sam had said the night before.

"I know," said Nat, because it was Steve asking – pleading, really – for her to stand down, but every muscle in her body was alert, and anger was like ice in her chest. She couldn't look away from the solid figure with the metal hand. What if Steve and Sam were only seeing what they wanted to see?

The skittish dog from the parking lot was slinking at the Soldier's side, keeping close, and the two of them found an empty table in the corner. The Soldier sat down without ordering. The dog settled on the floor at his feet. Nat could count its ribs from here.

Sam took over a water bowl for the dog and said an incongruously cheery hi to both of them. The Soldier didn't look at him or acknowledge him, but when he walked away, Bucky's hand – the flesh one – ruffled the dog's ears as the dog lapped the water. 

Nat let out a breath. Signs of life. She looked around at Steve, still standing behind her. "He might not be talking, but at least he's not killing anyone." 

Steve sent her a reproachful look. 

"Precedents," she said. Then she sighed and rolled her shoulders, forcing the muscles to relax. Letting the past fall behind her, where it belonged. "Sorry. He seems… better." Better was still a long way from good, but maybe this place was what he needed to make that journey. "Are you going to make him coffee or what?"

A quirk of the lips and Steve did. Nat threw in a chocolate chip cookie. She'd recovered her poise now. The ice was melting. Whoever was sitting at that table, petting that dog, he wasn't the Winter Soldier anymore, and Barnes certainly wouldn't be the first person Nat had battled who later became an ally.

Steve made coffee for a family group and a couple of women with shopping bags, while Sam made pie in the kitchen. Nat practiced working the coffee machine. "I think I've got it."

Steve sipped her latest cup and nodded appreciatively, saying, "Apparently I'm the least discerning coffee drinker on the planet. You should get Sam's opinion." But he wouldn't relinquish the cup, and his smile was knowing and a little rueful. "Don't worry, after a while you stop assessing every customer's threat potential and try to guess their coffee order instead."

Nat was struck by his tone, the fact that he was giving her kindly advice as if _he_ were the older sibling. Then the advice itself sank in. "Instead?"

Steve ducked his head in acknowledgement. "As well," he admitted. "You know, Jordan over there seems captivated."

Nat looked across at the tall kid with the bead necklace, who hastily dropped his gaze to his _Medical Herbalism_ textbook. He'd been there all morning, through three cups of coffee, and his knee was jiggling under the table, probably from the caffeine. And okay, he might be in his thirties, but he still looked like a kid to Nat.

"He's a good guy," continued Steve. "Very socially conscious. You should ask him out."

Nat grabbed a cloth and swatted Steve. "Do not start this, or I'll have to maim you. I will handle my own love life, thank you."

Steve laughed. "I just want you to be happy."

"Hey, I'm happy," said Nat. "I'm a happy person." And in saying it she realized that, against all odds, right now it was true.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> [Schlieren imaging](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schlieren_photography) is a thing; everything else is made up.


End file.
